


Bleeding Out

by Urby



Series: We're Here (Shine-verse) [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Other, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26665864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Urby/pseuds/Urby
Summary: They made a dangerous wager, and lost.Or, how Alfonse and Veronica became Líf and Thrasir.
Series: We're Here (Shine-verse) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1940215
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

"I didn't ask for this," Shine said, staring at the Breidablik in their hands. They lifted their head to look at Alfonse, their eyes meeting for the briefest of moments before the monstrous heart hiding inside the relic beat again, and with it, all traces of life left the Summoner. They crashed into the blackness seeping from the floor, sinking into it before he could reach them.

He thought he knew extremes of heat and despair during the campaigns in Nifl and Múspell. But this...but this --

The dark, strange fluid clung to his limbs, heavy and cloying and cold enough to fill him with a desperate fear. It dragged him down, ever downwards, towards what he knew to be an end. He could barely think beyond what he needed to do to keep his chest above the stuff.

People were screaming and shouting around him as they tried to fight their way out of the muck and save themselves, but the din grew quieter with every moment. Every time the Breidablik, which floated atop the black fluid as if buoyant, glowed, another voice fell silent. The noise was dim enough that Alfonse could pick out individual voices, now: Azura, rounding up nearby Heroes to form a perimeter around the altar; Marth, calling out the arrival of Hel; a little girl's scream, one that Alfonse barely recognized as Veronica. He tried to turn, to move through the dark essence, to at least face the coming threat, but it was so difficult to do so --

"Alfonse!"

The sound of his sister's voice, thin with panic, gave him the strength to twist towards her. His spirit plummeted when he saw that not only was Sharena already up to her elbows in the essence, but Hel was just behind her, poised with her scythe curling under Sharena's chin.

"Please! Not her! Not my sister!"

Sharena barely dared to shake her head, out of fear that she would slice her own neck on Hel's scythe. Her mouth was moving, though no sound came out, but her eyes - full of fear and concern for him, and not an ounce of self-preservation.

The Breidablik's glow pulsed once again, and another Hero fell to the ground without so much as a cry.

"Take me instead!" Alfonse cried out, his mouth heavy with the taste of tears and brackish bile. "I will go, willingly I would -- just don't hurt her, please --"

Hel towered over Sharena's trembling form, her eyes scanning around the chamber. The death goddess seemed to be...deliberating...searching for something...

The heart within the Breidablik thumped against the confines of its divine steel.

Hel raised her scythe. Sharena glanced after it in the vain hope that she was being freed, but something in her gaze had dimmed. She looked back to Alfonse, and while she didn't raise her voice, he heard her as if she was standing next to him:

"Save yourself."

Death's scythe cleaved through her body, and while it left no wound, she still fell.

Alfonse knew that he should try to fight, to summon some strength out of desperation or rage. But when Sharena's body sank, and he couldn't see the faintest trace of her anymore...

"Make it stop!" he screamed at the heavens, to the unfeeling sky and gods above. "I'll do anything!"

"Anything!" another voice, shrill with grief, echoed some distance away. "Anything to take this back!"

The Temple of Blood was silent as he stared upwards, tears blurring his vision. It was so quiet now...he supposed it would be only moments before the cursed relic or Hel herself would claim him.

" _Anything_ , you say..."

Alfonse felt the pull of the essence trapping him suddenly intensify, burying him completely. It was like the closing of a coffin, locking his body and his heart away - but only for a moment, as it just as suddenly forced him out, pushing him to his feet next to Veronica. She was pale and wet, dripping cursed bile from her crown.

He had no time to consider the dark irony of her being the only other survivor before his face was jerked upwards by an unseen power, forcing him to look Hel in the eye.

"The Heart," Hel intoned. "Where is it."

Alfonse's first instinct, as unwise as it was, was to refuse or deflect the question, but his heart strained to beat the longer he stalled.

"Do not fight me," Hel's voice grew deep with power.

"Infused," Veronica said, her voice harsh as she fought to breathe. "Inside the relic."

"Bring it to me."

Alfonse felt the pressure around his chest loosen and the sensation in his legs return. He was barely aware of his body other than its movement as he wandered to the place where he had last seen Shine. The Breidablik still hummed with a dark power and felt light in his hands...he allowed himself to hope that perhaps he could capture the Summoner's strength somehow, to use the relic to kill Hel -

But his body moved against his wishes, moving puppet-like back to the goddess and offering the relic limply for her to examine.

"How quaint," she said, her voice holding no amusement whatsoever. She held the Breidablik as if it were a toy. "Mother was ever fond of jokes."

She flicked the side of its barrel with a claw, as if launching a pest off of it. The Breidablik's guttural humming came to a halt, and it did not glow again. Hel tossed it to the ground with a hollow clank.

"You have made mistakes," she said, stretching her hands out. When she brought them close together, Alfonse felt a tugging at his body - one he could not help but obey, his legs jerking like a marionette. Veronica stumbled forward as well until the two of them fell to a kneel some distance away from the goddess of death. "The first was thinking you could stop me. The second was this ritual. These are the mistakes children make, and I can forgive them. I have quieted my mother's hunger once again, and I can extend to you another mercy."

Aflonse's chest shuddered, trying to heave a sob.

"Prince and Princess of Askr and Embla. You said you would do anything," Hel rumbled, her voice filling the chamber with dark power. "Hear me, then. For every life you take from another realm, I will return one life you so callously threw away on this vain hope to defeat me. You will find me other realms, other worlds, and you will kill the people there in my name. In this way will your world be restored."

A silence, thick as the black fluid below their feet, stretched after she spoke.

"Restored?" Veronica asked in a small voice. "The dead, back to life?"

"As if this foolishness never happened," Hel said. "Your precious retainers, your little Heroes, your dearest family. I will release them, and they will live again."

Alfonse clenched his fists into the essence as if he could find the ones who had died within. The last words of those he had lost rattled in his skull.

_I didn't ask for this._

_Save yourself._

How could he save himself, if they weren't there? He had less than nothing.

"If you accept, then rise and take my hand," Hel said. Her scythe lifted away from her grasp, traveling in an arc until it came to a stop just behind them. "If you refuse, then I will let you join the ones fallen today."

It was not a deal that sat well with him. It offended every facet of his spirit, of everything he believed in as a prince and citizen of Askr. It went against every aspect of being a good steward of the realms.

And yet, what choice did he have?

When they placed their hands in hers, Hel's lips rose in what could have been a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

"I believe I do not need to explain what this is to you," Hel gestured, the movement wooden and confined to her lower arm only.

Alfonse swallowed. "This is a gateway," he said in a tone even enough not to betray his uncertainty.

"Indeed."

Formal gateways, erected by the agreements between worlds and nations, were usually marked by stone archway: marble in Askr, and colored granite in Embla. This one had an odd aspect to it: it looked a little too perfect, as if it was cast in its shape rather than carved, and a dull grey throughout. It had none of the flourishes that would denote it as Askran or Emblian, but it still radiated a strange and dormant power.

"Long ago, I unearthed this gate. It leads elsewhere, but it was never opened." Hel said. "But it will be opened now."

"If it was never opened, where could it lead?" Alfonse asked under his breath. As far as he knew, there was no way for a gateway to have any power without a destination.

" _Askran._ "

Cold pressure gripped his lungs, keeping the air out of them until he approached the gateway. The energy trapped within tugged at him, reaching for its release. The process was intuitive, somehow familiar even if he had never actually opened a gateway in his life, like putting a key in a lock. He turned his hand, and the gateway yielded, yawning open...

The land just beyond the archway was dark and appeared to be some kind of forest. Hel glided through, bidding her recent acquisitions follow with an unsaid command. She spun her scythe slowly in the air, and as she did so, a heavy fog began to gather under her feet.

"This is the World of Conquest," Veronica said, breaking her silence.

"You are familiar with this place, then," Hel said, continuing to stir up the fog. "You will join my legion as it sweeps through the world. Leave no one alive."

Veronica's expression fell minutely. "And if we do, will you restore our kingdoms?"

Hel did not frown, though the air around her seemed to chill even more, if that was even possible. "In time," she said. "But, your kingdoms, your Midgard...those realms were not the only ones ravaged by the Heart's Rite. Those gateways from which you draw Heroes...they were within Angrboða's reach."

Alfonse felt a wrenching in his chest, and he could not even blame it on one of Hel's commands.

"My terms were clear. For every life you take in my name, I will release one taken by the Heart's Rite. I will have you begin here," she said, gesturing to the dark lands beyond. As her hand swept across the dusky horizon, an army of reanimated soldiers rose out of the fog. "When the work here is done to my satisfaction, you will open another gateway of my choosing. There is no need for questions."

Alfonse fell in with the phantom soldiers alongside Veronica. They were past the point of questioning themselves, anyway.

* * *

Askr had many records on the worlds of Fates, as it seemed to more easily split into variations depending on the decisions of a single person. It seemed so long ago that Alfonse had re-read some of those records alongside Shine as they fought off the first of Embla's invasions into the worlds of Conquest and Birthright - at least, the ones that their Zenith had been able to connect to.

This world seemed to be at a point early in the ramping of its history. Bonds had yet to be forged, and forces that he had taken for granted to be united were scattered. It made the invasion almost...trivial. The legion of the dead swelled as it moved from city to city. Hel herself would trail behind, almost languidly, lingering in the ruins of what they had cleared out as if breathing in the perfume of the recently departed.

The legion only stopped when its numbers fell too low for its own comfort, or when a city fell and it waited for its patron goddess to come collect. Alfonse found that he could keep up with their pace, fighting for hours without pause, kept awake and alert by some horrible force.

Pain was distant. He could figure, approximately, where injuries were threatening to worsen or which muscles were overworked, but it felt...like there was a fog between him and those feelings. Healers, moving like machines, would grab him to wipe away the more serious matters, but the magic didn't seem to remove the pain, no matter how dull it was. Perhaps the legion had no way to truly heal.

Alfonse wondered, every so often, if Heroes carried memories of their pain like this. Then he would figure, no. This was a constant, gnawing agony.

The invasion had gone on for...weeks, perhaps a few months, when they finally reached Castle Krakenburg, where the last of the Nohrian line had gathered for their final stand. The legion had come to a stop just beyond its defensive line, as if holding its breath.

Alfonse found Veronica perched up on the highest hill she could find, nearly motionless as she stared at the castle. He decided that the hill was as good a place to wait as any and had a seat some distance away from her. They had barely said a word to each other since the invasion began or the fall of Zenith, and he fully expected that she would ignore him as she had done these past weeks. Their common goal had not made allies of them.

"If I didn't know I would die in the attempt, I would storm the castle by myself," Veronica said loud enough for him to hear.

Alfonse blinked at the air around him. "Is that a boast, Princess?"

"It is not a matter of pride. I want this done, and waiting irks me. I know that castle almost as well as my own, down to who should be at which post. If I was strong enough, I could kill everyone in there myself. I don't see why we have to wait."

Despite her claim it was not prideful boasting, he couldn't help but feel like she thought a bit too highly of herself - or maybe she was simply what was available for him to loose some frustration upon, because he said, "Xander will be there."

"And?" she responded quickly.

"I would have thought he meant enough to you that you would hesitate. But that is perhaps putting too much faith in you having a heart."

He went too far with his words and he knew it, but she didn't seem to resent them. "This is a world that knows nothing about contracts. Nothing about Embla or Askr. Zenith, to them, is only a force of death," she said instead. "The Xander here doesn't know me. He wouldn't care about me. At this point, he will no doubt want to kill me. So, naturally, I will just have to kill him."

Alfonse frowned, his gaze dropping towards nothing. Wherever she had stashed her heart, he wished he could hide his own.

* * *

After the successful invasion of the World of Conquest, Hel ordered the two royals to march ahead of the legion and weaken their next points of attack. Perhaps she wanted to break them somehow, having them go after the people who they called allies and Heroes in better times. Perhaps they had proven their reliability during the Conquest invasion. Or perhaps she had overheard Veronica's impatience and figured they might act upon such frustrations.

Without the support and distraction that massive amounts of undead soldiers provided, Alfonse and Veronica had to work together and work more carefully. They had the advantage of being well-versed in the workings of the various Worlds and managed to pull off the majority of their infiltrations and assassinations successfully, but there were times when their plans were discovered early and they had to fight for their lives.

Alfonse was not pleased to discover that he had become powerful enough to fight - and kill - potential Heroes, even when vastly outnumbered. When he was a member of the Order of Heroes, he barely felt comfortable being called their equal, but being part of Hel's legion had made him stronger than years of training in Askr. Veronica, too, had become almost unrecognizable in terms of strength, now capable of summoning gales that even Heroes who had dedicated their lives to studying wind magic struggled to redirect or match.

She had had to demonstrate such mastery, and he his unnatural might, after they were found out by the Shepherds in the World of Awakening. Alfonse and Veronica had previously agreed that they would try to eliminate them one at a time, but their hand had been forced. They stood over the bodies of the fallen Shepherds, victorious but worse for the wear.

"The legion will have an easier time sweeping this world, now," Alfonse said, leaning on Fólkvangr as he caught his breath.

"The legion moves too slowly," Veronica said, her voice raspy. She stepped over the fallen bodies, storming ahead.

He glanced up to see where she was headed and froze when he saw the sanguine patch on her clothing. The two of them were no strangers to being injured, but this was far more serious than anything he had seen in a long while.

"Princess Veronica, stop. You're wounded."

"I can walk. Nothing is wrong with me yet," she said. "Let's move on."

Alfonse scowled and picked up his pace to catch up to her. "You're bleeding through your clothes. Have it healed now before you split yourself open."

"I am not bleeding," she growled between clenched teeth, trotting faster when she heard his footsteps approaching. "We can reach the next target before --"

She cut herself off as she broke into a run trying to get away. Her shorter legs couldn't keep her ahead for long, though, and his patience was too worn for him to bother being gentle as he twisted a length of her hair. That stopped her long enough to get her to turn around, allowing him to snatch her arm. "We will wait for a healer!"

"Leave me alone!" Veronica screwed her arm this way and that, trying to escape his grasp. "I'm telling you, I'm not bleeding and I'm so hurt I can't --"

"Then what is this? Have you even looked at it?" he shouted, pulling her cape aside. Once he did, his limbs almost went limp with surprise. Her clothing was intact, and there was no wound he could see. And yet, there was some kind of handprint-sized red mark...

His momentary shock was enough for her to smack her cape out of his hand. "Fine. I'll look at it. Tell me where it is," she said through a barely-controlled scowl.

Alfonse composed himself with as quiet a swallow as he could manage. "It's on your waist, close to your back. Your left side."

She twisted to have a look, and he released her arm so she could reach over and touch the area. She pulled at her robe, but the red spot didn't move with the fabric. Her scowl softened into a frown of mere confusion. "Not my clothes. But I'm not hurting there. It doesn't hurt, but it's...cold. What is that..." she twisted some more, in a few different directions. "Prince Alfonse. It moves when I do."

"Do you think..." he trailed off, taking a deep breath. "Do you think it's on your skin?"

"Then why would we see it?"

"I'm not sure. But I'd like to have a look, so we can --"

Veronica pulled her cape around her body like a shield. "No."

"I only mean to examine the area. I don't mean to --"

"No!"

"You won't be able to look at it yourself. It reaches your back."

Her stare was so hot and full of things he couldn't read (fear? hate? exhaustion?) that part of him wanted to turn around, to leave her alone like she clearly wanted to be, whatever that thing was be damned. It would have been simple. It would have been a step towards not caring, not getting attached, things that had only ever caused him heartache. Things that he knew he should do, for his own sake.

Before he could act on his darkening thoughts, she whirled around, eyes tightly shut. "Do it," she said in an even voice.

Alfonse took a step forward. She didn't move. He pushed her cape aside, and her only reaction was to tuck her chin.

It would have been far easier if she had just refused, he thought bitterly. But now, she was trusting him and worry was raking at his chest. "I'll have to make a tear," he explained, marking where he intended to make it with his finger.

"I know."

He steeled himself, manipulating the fabric as delicately as he could in an attempt to find a seam or the direction of the weave. The fabric was a bit too dark and too rich for him to be sure, so he took a chance and pulled in the direction he hoped would cause the smallest hole. He held his breath as he waited for the rip.

Veronica flinched once the fabric gave, but didn't make any noise.

The red was indeed on her skin. It was bright like blood but...too rich in color, as if it was lit from the inside. He dabbed at it with the edge of the torn fabric experimentally, but it didn't smear.

"It's on me, isn't it."

"It is." Lying to her wouldn't do any good. He pondered how best to describe what he could see while searching his memories for anything in legend or theory that would explain any of it. "It reminds me of a colored lantern made of glass."

"A colored lantern?"

"It looks like it's illuminated, though from what, I can't tell. Whatever the light is, it shines through clothes, it seems."

"A red light, but it chills?" she asked, stepping away from him and trying to have a look for herself. After a few moments, she gave up, covering the tear with her cape. "I've never heard of magic that can do that."

"Neither have I."

The first of Hel's legion began to appear on the horizon, making their way toward them. Alfonse considered their shapes in silence, barely distinguishable in the distance.

He was tired, though not exhausted. His body was ready to work through any aches he felt, and there was still enough light to work by. To commit atrocities by. He wondered what it would be like to bury himself for a long moment.

"We mustn't give Hel any reason to doubt us," he said, mostly to himself and the air around him.

"You're right," Veronica said, her voice quiet. "They will find us when it gets dark...I can take care of this then."

She followed closely behind as they made their way to the next target.

* * *

Alfonse wished he could become deaf to the screams of those he cut down. But, perhaps the silence afterwards wasn't much better.

An air of emptiness settled, damp and heavy, over the town they'd just ruined. Ruined in the name of Hel, in the vain hopes that one day they could wash away the same ruins from their realm. What would become of these, then? He pushed a piece of rubble with his foot, too weary to kick it away.

"Prince Alfonse."

He was not sure he wanted anything to break the silence. But, he turned towards the voice. "Did you find survivors?"

Veronica didn't wear the normally placid expression he'd come to expect from her. If he didn't have doubts that she could, he would have thought she was about to cry. "No...but the redness is spreading." Indeed, it had started to crawl towards her belly since he had seen it last. His grip on Fólkvangr tightened.

She looked like she needed comfort and reassurance. He was not confident he could muster the compassion for either - not now.

"It will be dark soon. When the legion comes, there will be healers," he said instead. "Perhaps we'll also get answers."

Neither of them were satisfied with that notion, but they waited for the phantoms to arrive. Alfonse stayed at Veronica's side mostly because he didn't have anywhere else to go, he told himself.

When the healers finally began setting up their camp, she planted herself in front of one, staring at their unchanging face. "Take care of me," she ordered.

The healer paused, lifted a staff to wipe away some of the scrapes that she'd accumulated throughout their campaign, and turned back to their previous task. The red marks remained.

"I was afraid this might happen," she admitted, her gaze falling to the floor.

"Perhaps it will go away with rest," he offered, weak as that offer was.

"I would like to rest..."

Like a fog, Hel drifted towards them. She regarded them with the same sort of mild surprise as one would upon discovering a bug in their path.

"You begin to bear the mark of my power," she mused.

Veronica lifted a hand as if to touch her side, but let it fall. "Is this your doing?"

"In death there is power. As you cause death, that power will reside within you," Hel explained. She gestured languidly, her body shining with a cold light. "That power calls to more death, and will seek it. It will consume the living, even yourself, to feed its need. Thus you will be forged into an instrument of death."

Alfonse wished he had the strength to lunge at her, to cut Fólkvangr through her throne and body and scatter them like so many bones. His feet stayed planted on the ground.

"Will I become like you?" Veronica asked.

"Do not fool yourself. You are mine, and so is any of the power you may gain," Hel intoned. "If you wish to be of use to me, then you will cultivate this power. Do not disappoint me."

Alfonse felt a weight, colder than the snows of Nifl, fill his body when her gaze passed over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun little fact: the scene where Veronica discovers the light on her body is one of the first I wrote for these characters, and was put down around end of August.


	3. Chapter 3

The mysterious red light spread over Veronica's body as they continued to carry out Hel's commands. Its brightness seemed to grow in intensity when she fought, but when at rest or trying to be inconspicuous, she could disguise it with an extra cloak.

It did not take long for the light to appear on Alfonse as well, though his was blue, like a too-bright sky. He discovered it only after his chestpiece had become so damaged that he had to remove it, and by that time, the light had blossomed into something that covered most of his upper torso, stopping just short of his arms.

When he touched it, it did not feel like skin. But his sense of touch felt numbed or distant of late, so he wasn't sure if it was just his perception. Pain was easier to bear every day, to the point where it seemed either he or Veronica could push their bodies past their limits. If a bone would break or if exhaustion would have made a lesser person submit, they could get through it, but not unscathed - the light would ooze its way to new areas of their body.

"Prince Alfonse."

The two of them were waiting until dawn to keep working - while they did not feel exhaustion, they still needed light to work by. The rocky outcropping they were using as shelter kept potential rain off of their clothes, but it was quickly growing dark, and he could not easily tell what her mood was through her expression. "Yes, Princess Veronica? What is it?"

She was already moving - storming, more like - towards him before he even answered, and the loud clicking of her heels against the stone beneath gave him pause. He was used to this energy when she was about to do battle.

With a resounding clack, she planted one of her feet on one of the walls next to him. That alone made him jump, his chest swimming with enough confusion that he was almost nauseous --

"Look at this," she commanded, setting to work pulling her stocking down. His breath escaped him in a wordless shout, and it took him a moment to summon words.

"Princess? What are you doing!"

The area around her waist grew faintly luminous, glowing rose under her clothing. It was enough light to illuminate her frown as she fought her stocking.

"Are you not ashamed!?""

"There is a _bone_! Two bones! Look!" she cried, finally exposing her leg. The red material had progressed beyond a mere covering there, making the flesh translucent. Her fibula and tibia were clearly visible, tinted dark by the surrounding crimson.

Alfonse stared wordlessly, unable to control the grimace spreading across his face. He was no doctor or healer, but he knew well enough that there was more than bone underneath skin and muscle, but the ones in Veronica's leg seemed to...float, as if suspended in fluid held in a leg-shaped vessel.

"These are not the first I've seen," she said, glaring hot holes into the stone in front of her. "But the first I can show. Judging by your reaction, you have yet to find anything like this yourself."

"I..." he tried to clear his throat, but it was too dry to make much difference. "I'll admit I do not have much reason to examine myself of late..."

She draped her body upon her leg, her hands in her hair. He idly wondered why she didn't adopt some other position to sulk in, but their loss of sensation made them flexible enough that it did not bother them, perhaps.

"What will happen next?" she muttered into her knee. "Am I to become some phantom? Will my brother ever recognize me?"

Alfonse wiped his mouth with a hand, trying to bring his expression to something more neutral. He much preferred dealing with Veronica when she was angry - at least she could stir herself to action then.

"Your brother will surely recognize your spirit," he said, unsure if he believed his own words. "However warped our bodies may become, our intentions have stayed the same. We wish for the restoration of our realm."

She did not move for a long moment. When she drew herself back to a stand, she seemed resigned.

"No matter the cost," she said to the air around them.

"Indeed."

She fixed him with a stare that was touched with regret. Slowly, one of her hands rested on her chest. "You...saw it first here? On your body?"

It was truth, but he did not want to confirm it, knowing what it might mean for his future.

"I wonder what we will see," she said. "Or what we will not see."

Alfonse broke eye contact, resting an arm on the stone in front of him.

"Apologies. These are poor thoughts to rest upon," Veronica admitted. "Would you like to review our plan for the morning?"

He wished he could feel something in his chest - wrath, tension, relief, anything - but the only thing he could be sure of was his focus, as if he was considering the armor he was wearing without looking at it. He dug his fist into his forehead, and even that was a mostly imagined impact.

"Yes, let's," he said roughly.

* * *

Hel gathered the two of them upon the conclusion of the campaign, and they followed the legion back into the realm of the dead. Alfonse and Veronica stood in the still air, watching the goddess for their next assignment. Hel sat in her floating throne, staring into some unknown horizon.

"Do you know how long you have been in my service?" she asked.

Alfonse expected his body to seize up, but he felt...fine. This was a question, then, and not a command. Regardless, he had little idea. Weeks, months went by, and while the finer details of their mission changed, their aims did not. He did not track such things, partly to keep his own sanity.

"It will be two years very soon, little mortals," she said, after the silence had gone on long enough. "You deserve some rest."

Her words hung in the air for a good while.

"Your homes must be wanting care," she continued, still gazing towards the distance. "Go. Await my summons at a later time."

It was enough of a command to tug on their bodies, ushering them away. It led them to the gate opening into Askr, pushing them through before they regained control of themselves.

"I do not like this," Veronica announced, unable to hide the uncertainty in her expression. "Does she intend to have us wait? For what, exactly?"

Alfonse's hand fell to the hilt of Fólkvangr. "We made a pact...but perhaps she does not mean to follow through..."

He felt suddenly robbed of strength, and his knees buckled under him. He slammed into the ground with a breathless grunt and blinked at the soil.

"...It appears we cannot talk ill of our... _employer_ ," she said. "Do you need help getting up?"

No part of his body seemed to obey his thoughts. Since he couldn't answer, she had a seat by his head, gazing down at him with eyes thinned with amusement. Eventually, he was able to push himself up to a kneel, then to a stand when she offered her elbow as support.

"It will be dark in a few hours," he said, clearing his throat as if clearing away what had just happened to him. "We could travel to your castle at Embla. Once I know where it is, I can make a gateway that reaches there --"

"I will stay here," Veronica said loud enough to cover his words. "You will show me my chambers."

Alfonse had no desire to comply, but he was in no mood to argue, either, especially when he noted how bright the tainted spots on her body shone. The two of them made their way to the castle the Order of Heroes used, once upon a time.

* * *

The days crawled by.

Alfonse took the time to practice his swordplay, though wooden targets put up much less of a challenge than moving bodies. He would gaze upon the empty practice arena and wish he had the imagination to populate it with Heroes that could teach him. Instead, the breeze would give him pause, and then he would find some other thing to do.

The halls echoed, but the sound was eerie and empty when it was only a single pair of footsteps. The sound lacked voices. There was one voice in particular that was huge in its absence, and he could think of nothing else when he found himself walking from hall to hall. Every day, he waited for a summons so that he might work towards hearing that voice again.

One day, its absence gnawed at him so much that he decided to mark it somehow. Sharena's favorite flower grew in secluded places, but she had revealed one or two of them with him when they were children. He felt like an intruder, gathering the flowers, but the softness of their petals soothed his spirit. They were delicate things, needing a gentle hand and thoughtful ties, but they arranged themselves into bouquets readily. He cradled them in his arms as he made his way back to the castle, treating each like a treasure.

Veronica was cloud-watching in the main hall, and her stare followed him as he crossed by.

"Where did you find all of those?" she asked as he passed.

He was really hoping she would stay quiet, because his burden already threatened to be too much. He planted his feet on the ground so he wouldn't shake or otherwise ruin the bouquets he'd made.

"A secret place," he said evenly.

"Is the place you're headed to also a secret?"

He shook his head. "The plaza."

The following silence was long enough that he felt the confidence to continue walking.

"Try to be back before dark," she called after him.

The plaza was too open to gather any echoes, so his work was lonesome. Two years of neglect had toppled over some of the structures and tucked dust and leaves in all sorts of places. He did his best to clear most of them so that the flowers would be able to stand out. When he laid the last bouquet down, he took a few steps back to look at what he'd been able to accomplish. The effect was pleasant, in a sort of pathetic way. Were it not for the ruins, he could pretend it was the beginnings of a celebration, one that needed garlands and banners and people...

He dropped to his knees and covered his head. He kept still, wondering if the hurt in his chest would manifest in tears, and when they did not come, he wondered if he was a terrible brother for not being able to cry.

Alfonse stared at the flowers until the setting sun made their brilliance fade. It was not a sight he wanted to contemplate, so he rose stiffly and made his way back to the deserted Order. As he walked, the wind - the ever-present Askran wind - picked up, blowing at his back. He sighed darkly, murmuring to himself. He was already on his way out, and the wind seemed like it was taunting him, almost --

He snapped out of his spiraling thoughts when he caught the sight of a little blossom floating by in the wind, coming to rest on the ground in front of him. It must have been torn off of one of the bouquets...it was a rather pretty individual, if not a little damaged from the tumbling it had done.

Perhaps, he thought, he could turn around and put it back in the arrangement, so that the offering would be whole again. But, as he cradled it in his fingers, he became less and less certain he would be able to face the memorial he had just created. So, he tucked it into his shirt, allowing its faint perfume to cling to his clothes.

Veronica had barely moved from where he had seen her last, as if she had been waiting for him. She held a lantern, just bright enough to light the empty hall.

"You kept one of the flowers," she said.

Alfonse kept walking. She fell in step some distance away as they crossed the hall.

"What do those flowers mean?"

"They're flowers," he said, too weary to summon any real anger in his words. "They don't _mean_ anything."

"They obviously matter to you," she said. "Tell me why."

The flower's scent was faint and sweet. Alfonse realized that the light wasn't following him so closely anymore, and he turned around. Veronica stood still, her stare even and unwavering. He matched it for a long time, enough for the lantern to be the only source of light in the hall.

"They mattered to my sister," he said finally.

If Veronica's expression changed, the flickering lantern made it impossible to discern. Eventually, she started walking again. He joined her, keeping closer this time because of the dark.

"You only wanted to keep one flower?" she asked.

"I did."

"Will it be enough?"

Alfonse scowled at the question, though he kept looking straight ahead. Eventually, they reached his room, and he let Veronica continue down the hall towards where she would spend the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a cliffhanger at the end of this one because it was getting long. Don't worry, it'll work out, as far as working out for these two go
> 
> Big thanks to @ExaltedBrand for helping me wrangle this doozy of a chapter, as well as all my usual cheerleaders (such as an amazing gator).
> 
> The siege of Valentia idea is from @AquosEvolved

"What is the meaning of this?"

Hel glided off her throne, landing on the ground with a force that scattered dust and made the grass beneath her feet wither like paper before a flame. The throne shook with nervous power: jaws on skulls gibbered, fingers grasped at empty air, and the bones exhaled a violet smoke.

Even though she had addressed them with a question, neither Alfonse nor Veronica dared speak. Was it possible, Alfonse wondered, that Hel could not see how battered they were? That she could not assess the ravaged battlefield for herself?

Veronica's eyes met his for a short moment before squeezing shut. She had not wanted to retreat, anticipating a reaction like this, but fell back with him when he had proposed they regroup.

Hel's chest heaved with a sigh, though it was unclear whether air stirred in her body. "Are you unclear on the terms of our deal? You are to go where I direct you, and for every life you take, I will grant your worlds one in return. And yet, I find you here."

Veronica hugged Élivágar closer to her chest, her breath coming out in thin wheezes. The sound was not enough to break the stiff silence.

"I give you mercy. I give you gifts. I give you...a simple task. And yet, you fail me."

Dusky wingbeats overhead announced the arrival of the underworld princess. Eir dismounted her pegasus and held onto its bridle as she assessed the situation.

"The soldiers are holding against the necrodragons, but only just," she said finally. "They are not making any progress through the pass."

"So it falls to me, then," Hel seethed, taking a heavy step forward. "I was a fool to ever believe that I could rely on mortals and wraiths."

She flicked her wrist, and the ground beneath her feet suddenly cracked open. Dark, cloying fluid poured from the fissure, and before Alfonse and Veronica could react, it pooled around their bodies, pulling them down. They barely had time to cry out before the fluid lunged towards their heads, bringing them down into darkness.

He flailed, or tried to. The further down he went, the harder the fluid pressed against him, crushing his limbs with chill. He could feel some kind of vibration nearby - Veronica struggling, perhaps? but the sensation eventually faded away. It was...still.

He realized that Sharena must have felt like this, that fateful, terrible day. The thought sapped his will to fight, and he allowed himself to sink.

It was cold. There was nothing, and he felt himself becoming nothing. And yet, he could still hear --

"You made them a pact. You cannot just throw them away!"

"A pact has terms, Eir. Even you understand this."

"They are _children_ , Mother!"

"I have little use for children."

"Then, if you do not..."

A hand pierced the nothingness. It was a cold hand, but not as cold as the dark, the nothing. It seized hold of him and pulled, pulled...

Veronica looked so pale and small when Eir laid her next to him on her pegasus...Alfonse wondered if the reason Eir could drag them out so easily was that they really had wasted away. Eir hesitated before kicking off, glancing back at her mother.

The lines on Hel's face pulsed black, a stark contrast to the hair billowing in an unfelt wind. "I will remember this," she intoned. She lifted a hand in dismissal and turned towards the Dragon's Maw. "Leave me to my task."

Eir's grip on her mount's reins tightened. "I will return, Mother. Farewell."

Hel did not watch them fly away.

* * *

Alfonse's body jolted before he could open his eyes, before he had full awareness. Fear hit him all at once, not because he could not see what was happening, but because he was moving in ways he could not control.

Cool fingers touched his forehead, and his body stilled. He lay quiet, bringing himself back to calm in the darkness behind his eyelids. Eventually, he felt alert enough to open his eyes.

He was on his back on a cot. There was enough daylight to illuminate the room: though he could not be certain, it reminded him of one of the rooms in the Order of Heroes' medical wing. He blinked, and would have frowned if he had the energy for it. Wasn't he supposed to be in Valentia? The campaign hadn't ended, had it?

Something moved beside him, filling his body with tension, but not enough to make him flinch.

"I will not hurt you," Eir's voice was quiet. "You are safe here. My mother is far away."

Alfonse let his weight sink back into the cot. Memories of what had happened were...fluid. His body seemed to remember what had happened with more clarity than his mind, which still buzzed with the faint notion that he was meant to be campaigning with Veronica and that he was wasting time doing nothing.

"Please rest," she said, her face hovering at the edge of his vision. "You have been through much, and you will need time to..."

The sound of blankets shifting cut her off. She slipped out of view.

"Where am I?" Veronica's voice was almost unrecognizable in its mousiness.

"A place of rest," Eir explained. "A safe place."

The sound of shifting grew louder. Alfonse considered trying to turn his head to watch.

"I don't want to be here," Veronica spoke too softly for any emotion to show in her words. "I wish I was home."

He closed his eyes and wished he could sleep.

"I understand," Eir said. "But you need to heal."

"I don't want to heal."

"You have little choice."

The shifting sounds quieted.

"I want my brother's book."

"Your brother's book...?"

Tension gathered in Alfonse's chest. He strained to listen.

"It was a present. I left it here, somewhere. If here is Askr..."

"Where did you leave it?" Alfonse said, the words dry in his throat.

"In my room. On the pillow."

Eir rose. He felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Is there anything I can find for you?" she asked.

He couldn't shake his head, and trying to speak again felt like a trial. After a moment, he managed to push out a groan.

Cold fingers on his forehead soothed the tightness in his body. He barely heard her bid him to rest before he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

When Alfonse next awoke, he was in much better control of his body. The hospital wing was darker than he had remembered it last, as the curtains were drawn. Veronica was tucked in tightly into her cot and appeared to be asleep. The worn cover of a book peered out from under the sheets. He thought it a bit odd that she would need a comfort item to rest - especially a book - but he did not judge her for it.

His legs creaked when he stood, and the fact he could hear it but not feel it darkened his thoughts for a moment. He used walls as support as he made his way out of the room.

Eir was standing in the hall just outside the medical wing, gazing at a painting of a long departed Askran royal. She turned towards him and waited for him to approach before speaking.

"You must be tired of resting, but you are not yet fully well. Please be careful not to strain yourself."

"You brought us here, didn't you?" he asked. "Why?"

She did not answer for a moment, her gaze firm as if searching. Then, she said, "I know this place is important to you. I brought you here to rest your heart, if only for a little while."

It was not the sort of answer he wanted, and he was not sure he was grateful for the sentiment. Not at this moment. "What about Hel?"

Eir's expression grew pained. "I will speak with her. With luck, she will listen to me."

"And if we are unlucky?"

"That is not for us to decide."

Alfonse sighed. The breath rattled in his lungs. "If I were to leave, would you stop me?"

"I would not," Eir said. "But I would ask you to tell me where you mean to go."

"Only to a field. I would return. Or I hope to, if I am strong enough."

"I see...then I wish you peace, and strength," she said.

He nodded, and made for the field where secret flowers grew. He would need both.

* * *

Alfonse knew he would run into Eir again eventually, and that she would likely try to get him to rest as soon as she saw him. He was not ready to find her in the plaza, however, and the surprise made him nearly trip over his own feet.

She turned towards him, even though he hadn't made that much noise. The black of her clothing made her stand out in the middle of the plaza, somehow bright amongst the dust and dried blooms. "You have returned," she said.

"There aren't many places I can go," he said, putting some effort to keep from muttering.

She stood, still as a sentinel, as he laid the bouquets he had made on the ground. She bore witness to his task of laying them out. When he finished, she had somehow made her way behind him, gazing at the flowers with a distant fondness.

"Are these an offering?" she asked.

"A memorial. My sister loved them," he said, hoping she would reminisce with him.

Eir crouched to examine the bouquet, her touch ghost-light on the flowers. When she held one up to her nose, it was with a tenderness that he had only ever seen Sharena use.

"There is such love and care here. It puts the spirit at rest," Eir said after a long moment. "But these flowers are very frail, and will soon fade."

"I am aware."

The wind stirred her hair slightly as she looked around the plaza. "Would you like for me to take care of these flowers?" she asked.

"They are not yours," Alfonse said, unsure what he intended by that answer.

"I understand and respect that," she said. "I only offer a means to make their brilliance last, if it is something you desire. Little things like flowers...they are simple for me to keep in a restful state as they are dying."

Deep down, he knew that preparing bouquets and laying them out was another form of killing. Flowers died eventually, and taking them out of their home ended their lives even sooner. He could not decide if doing so was some form of inflicting suffering, however. At this moment, filled with grief and so sure of his own worthlessness, he only had room to contemplate what would comfort him.

"How long could you keep them like this?"

"Until you next come to see them," she said. "So that you would not be confronted with the sight of something you needed to renew and clear away...if such a thing would soothe you, I could do that."

Alfonse realized he was clenching his fists tightly because of the sound his gloves made. He took a moment to try to relax as much of his body as he could.

"If you would do so, do it to honor my sister, not to soothe my woes," he said.

"Very well..."

Eir laid the flower she was holding back down, and when her hand left the arrangement, they seemed brighter than ever before. She stood and looked over her shoulder at him.

"Would you like me to leave?"

He did not know what to answer with, and she lingered with him until his body could no longer hold him upright. A bitter part of him wanted to tell her to leave him in a heap, but he was glad to feel her press her fingers to his head and bring him to sleep.

* * *

Alfonse awoke alone, staring at a now-familiar ceiling, able to move. He chanced a stretch, but he could not feel the pull of muscles no matter what he did, so he gave that up after a while.

The halls were empty save for daylight and wind. He stood in a sunbeam and watched dust flutter. Distantly, he realized that the last time he had done something like this was when he was a little boy, in the proper Askran castle, still too young to pretend at being a Hero.

"Excuse me..."

The sound of another voice surprised him into turning around. Eir was in the hall, somehow - he hadn't even heard or seen her come in. She glided towards him with whisper-quiet steps. Her lips were drawn thin, though her brow remained relaxed, as if her face was not articulated enough for a full picture of emotion.

He wondered, faintly, why she hadn't tried to get his attention by calling his name, but he shook his head to clear those thoughts. "What do you need me for, Princess?" he asked.

"Begging pardon," she began, holding her hands together. "But I have lost the girl."

"Lost..." he blinked a few times. "What do you mean?"

"She is not in bed or anywhere nearby. I worry she might be overexerting herself."

"I see."

"Would you help me find her?"

Truth be told, he had no idea where Veronica might have gone. Still, he nodded.


End file.
